


Might Need A Little Help (With My Own Interconnection)

by orphan_account



Category: Pushing Daisies
Genre: Gen, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-21
Updated: 2011-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-27 16:05:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/297622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tiny scenes throughout Charlotte Charles’ life where she might have needed a little help (and the people who ended up offering it).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Might Need A Little Help (With My Own Interconnection)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Grevling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grevling/gifts).



**Peanut Butter and Honey Sandwiches**

Her father kept the honey on highest shelf.

She paid little attention to this at the time (“He was always around to reach the highest of the high,” Chuck told Ned, swapping little moments of their respective childhoods) but today was _different_ , and not for the usual ways: trips to the grocery, business travels and the sort. Her father, Charles Charles, was buried under six feet of dirt less than three hours ago, and she was now craving a honey and peanut butter sandwich.

This was quite the — _predicament_.

So Chuck looked around for anything that would give her a certain amount of lift. The step stool found in the cabinets was too short, and upon surveying, she realized she did not have enough phonebooks to make up the height difference. Not good. Her father always liked to recycle them — the phonebooks and other household goods their utilities sent — once they received the updated edition, which consistently happened sooner than Chuck realized.

(“There was a time I was terrible at keeping track of time,” she explained. “It was ‘skill’ — and they used those words loosely — my aunts said I picked up from him.”

“What changed?” Ned asked.

“Time and two aunts. No, an aunt and a mother who I didn’t know was my mother until weeks ago.”

They both laughed.)

Due to that lapse — his lapse that can never be corrected as he is _dead_ , a thought just properly switched on for her — in decision making, Chuck was left with nothing: not a father who could help her reach the highest of the help, not a stack of phonebooks that would lend her the extra inches, and no one who cared enough to see what she was up to in the kitchen that, in turn, could have helped. Just a little spark of curiosity was all she wanted, needed, but there was nothing.

This was — _upsetting_.

So when she sat down on the stool and tears began to form, she didn’t hide them.

(“Later,” Chuck continued. “Later, Aunt Vivian found me — eyes red, nose runny — and cleaned off my face, told me everything would be okay — and it was until it wasn’t, until I had enough of living for others’ adventures — and I believed her. She made me a honey and peanut butter sandwich, and I smiled. It was. It was _nice_.”)

*

 **Complex Algebra**

Chuck was once sixteen and homeschooled. When asked about it, she quickly informs everyone in the conversation it was her idea, not her aunts, and she had an academically enriching and encouraging environment.

(“Do you even know _anyone_ else who can speak six different languages, including the one you need absolutely in this very moment, Emerson? Let me help! I’ve proven myself enough times, or — I will have to resort to beating you to the crime scene again. I don’t think you can take the embarrassment a second time,” said Chuck, grinning.

“Okay, fine,” Emerson agreed. “But if any trouble pops up, you are on your own, Dead Girl.”

“You don’t mean that.” She laughed.

“Try me.”)

And it was good. It was great, even! She learnt a lot in a faction of the time. Soon Chuck was finished learning everything she felt she needed to know about geometry (“Which wasn’t a lot, to be honest!” she said hours later, after explaining why the angles didn’t necessarily match the suspect’s version of events.”), she moved on to an advance form of algebra, and that — that was a _challenge_ once she got into conics.

Though Aunt Vivian was the utmost helpful with the vast majority of her academic adventures, she was as useful as the dead when it came to mathematics, so Chuck knew she could not much help as she wished from her. So, next, she tried the Coeur d’Coeur Public Library, which turned out did not have any dedicated services for math classes.

(“Apparently our town didn’t have an interest in the math and sciences!” Chuck paused for dramatic effect. “Who knew?”

“That — that doesn’t make sense, but they would have if they had met me,” Ned added, shuttering.)

Chuck then grew desperate. She had never met a subject she could not crack within a couple days, and she did not understand where these troubles were originating from. She got geometry. She comprehended the sections for before, although what does conics have to do with algebra _anyway_. They could have included anything else worthwhile instead of _conics_.

So, the day she on the porch — complete with her textbooks, pens and papers, in an effort to try to figure all this stuff out — she did not hear Lily come from indoors.

“Do you need any help?” Lily asked, reading over her shoulders.

“No — well, yes,” Chuck responded, “if you are offering.”

“No one did tell you I was the math prodigy. I was offered scholarships to continue my education.”

“But,” Chuck started, absentmindedly.

“But — plans change, and you do a lot of things for the people you love.”

*

 **Honey Bees**

There was a knock on Olive’s door. “I’m coming.”

And another. “I’m coming.”

And _another_. “Hold your horses! I’m coming.”

“Olive!”

“ _Chuck_.”

“My bees,” Chuck said, breathless.

“Your bees?”

“Yes, my _bees_. There’s a rooftop inspection today, and I need help hiding them. They don’t belong here. The city — it’s illegal to keep bees (honey bees, not the killer kind) in the city, and there’s a rooftop inspection, and — and Ned cannot touch my bees.”

“Why can’t he touch your bees?”

“Allergic.”

“Is that so? Is that why he can’t touch _you_?”

“He’s _deathly_ allergic.”

“To you or the bees?”

“Neither? No. Both? Enough about Ned. Can you help me temporarily move my bees until it is save to keep them again, _please_?” Chuck frowned.

“Okay. Where do we start?”

(“‘Bees’ is no longer a real word, you know,” said Olive to Chuck the next day.

She got a _thank you again_ and a smile as a response.)

*

 **Nightmares**

One night, Chuck had a bad dream. Ned asked about it, wondering why it kept her up at night, but she brushed it off like it was nothing. He respectfully followed her cue.

“Sometimes we all have terrible dreams,” he said, unprompted days later. “And what we do with them tells us a lot about our resolve. You can bury them deep down and allow the seeds of uncertainty grow, — or you could told about it and what them, those doubts, grow into (let’s say) flowers.”

“Ned, when did you get so great at talking about feelings?”

“You can say I had a little help.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the Bird and the Bee's "What's In the Middle."  
> Happy holidays, Grevling. I hope you have a great day and here's to the upcoming year. Cheers.


End file.
